Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Googly-Eyed Vagina

I have this site that tells me how people came across my blog. Don't worry, your identity is safe. All the data shows is the "Visitor Paths." I'd like to share the most recent ones with you now because I like to invade people's privacy and publish it publicly.

  • google search - natasha ferrier phone number
After seeing this one, I experienced instant paranoia. Is my number on the internet? Who was looking for my phone number? What were they planning to do when they acquired it? Why didn't they use an apostrophe S? I googled it myself and then realized that, during some forgotten time when I had no brain, I put my phone number on my facebook. I have yet to receive any calls.
  • google search - sex bubble jackets
What. Is. That.
  • google search - 18 anymore damsel porno film
I'm sorry, "18 anymore?" Does that mean 19? Why didn't you just put 19 then? Isn't "porno film" a bit redundant? Since when do second graders know how to use the internet?
  • google search - damsel porn
I really need to rename my blog. And stop talking about porn. 
  • google search - vagina awareness month
My blog is the #2 site that pops up for his search. Don't I get a plaque or something? Where's my medal? I'm serious. That means not joking. I want my fucking Vagina Awareness Month Google Trophy.
  • google search - my vagina
Oh, you're searching for your vagina? I'll give you a few pointers, newb: take off your pants and put your computer on your lap. Now go to google and start to type "my vagi---" oh lookie! It was right there all along! Congratulations, you just played Hide and Seek with your private parts.
  • google search - googly eyed vagina
I have no idea what this means. But I hope it doesn't involve glue.
  • google search - snow white and the 7 horny dwarfs
  • google search - snow white and 7 horny dwarfs
  • google search - horny show white and the dwarfs
  • google search - snow white is horny
This is by far the most popular search I see. The feminist in me is happy that there is a 50/50 ratio between the horniness of the men and of the woman, but the child in me is seriously disturbed. On a different note, why can't both parties be horny? Is this some kind of animated gang-bang? And what's the opposite of a gang-bang? I mean, if horny Snow White were to do ALL the dwarfs against their will, what do you call that? I can see it now: she puts some Dopey in their drink, then they all start to feel Happy, then suddenly a little Sleepy, and the next morning they all wake up Grumpy and have to call the Doc because they all woke up with a Sleezy Rashful in their asshole.
  • google search - horny dwarfs
Something tells me this one has nothing to do with Snow White.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Going Up?

Fleeting Thoughts After Eating Sour Skittles With Cuts On My Fingertips

Thought #1

Don't ever eat Sour Skittles with cuts on your fingertips. It stings. All you have to do is remove the 'B' and what do ya got? Taste the rain OW.

Thought #2

Have you ever had your hopes and dreams snatched from your innocent heart and thrown into a blender? I have. The day I discovered that erasable pens didn't really erase that well.

Thought #3

Every night when I lay down to go to sleep, my cat snuggles up with me. Cute, right? Yeah, until she starts nibbling me. It starts out soft...a little chew on the tip of my nose...like she's just making sure I'm there. Then she does a double-nip...like she's testing something...and then BAM! Bite. On my nose.

"Don't eat me."

This is always the last thing I say before drifting off to sleep. When I'm particularly tired, it's less casual and more like:


I hope my roommates don't ever hear this. From their perspective, I'm in a dark room, at 2 in the morning, screaming about not getting eaten. Or maybe they think some boy is in my room trying to orally rape me. Is that a thing? Oral rape?

Thought #4

I'm still eating the Skittles. Sugar > pain.

Thought #5

They say: If you want to be a successful blogger, you have to blog everyday. 

Blog everyday? Are they out of their minds? How am I supposed to find something entertaining and somewhat shocking every. single. day? My life isn't a movie. Some days, the most exciting thing I do is take a shower and NOT have the water turn cold on me mid-shampoo. Which, by the way, happens all the fucking time. There's some evil Shower Demon who waits until I get in the shower and shampoo my hair. He doesn't even give me time to condition it; that's how evil he is. As soon as that squirt of Pantene is good and lathered, the Shower Demon sprints to the toilet and flushes it, turning my water from hot to freezing.

By the way, I looked up "demon" in my thesaurus and I found that one of its synonyms is succubus. I'd never heard of a succubus and so I looked up its definition: a female demon believed to have sexual intercourse with sleeping men. 

What the hell? How does that work? It doesn't sound very eventful. Or successful. Unless it's in the morning time? I don't know and I'm getting off topic.

To blog everyday, I end up reaching into my memory and pulling out stories that I refused to tell when they actually happened. I'm resorting to the secretive shit and if it ever gets too personal, FUCK OFF AND STOP READING MY BLOG.

I was visiting friends one year at their university. They lived on campus in a dorm that had an elevator. (This eventually becomes useful information, I assure you. I'm not just randomly alerting you of the building's modern methods of going up.) My first evening there resulted in a night of drinking, mooning strangers, and crashing a frat party, which I blogged about a couple years ago (go find it). However, when I wrote about it then, I left one part out. I cared then, but guess what! I don't care now. It's funny and I want to tell it. Plus, my brain is missing that little part that says, "No."

After the party, my friends all drove back to the dorms. My boyfriend and I somehow didn't make it in the car, or even to the car, for that matter, which we found, in our drunken state of mind, incredibly amusing.

"We're lost! Ahahahahaha!"

After thirty minutes of playing Lewis and Clark, substituting Sacajawea with Chief Na-Tee-Lite, we found some bushes that we believed were UTC bushes. 

"Let's do it in the bushes!"


Some time later.

"We did it in the bushes!"


"Hey, there's our friend's dorm!"

"Oh shit, there it is!"

Some time later.

"Fourth floor, right?"

"I don't remember..."



"Let's do it in the elevator!"


The elevator descends as something else ascends and after a few floors, the doors unexpectedly open. We hear a shriek, and look over at the gaping elevator doors only to see a young girl standing there, holding a couple textbooks and a notebook, with her hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the two naked people sprawled out on the dirty elevator floor.


My boyfriend scrambles up as we both frantically throw our clothes on, slamming the "CLOSE DOOR" button over and over again.










We get off on the next floor and decide to just take the stairs. We're running down, flight after flight, when we almost run straight into the same girl from before, who also had decided to take the stairs. She looks at us and starts giggling nervously as we politely nod and proceed with more profanities.




We arrive back at our friend's dorm, where he sat with our other friends, all of them casually eating breakfast.

"Hey, where have you guys been?"

"Uhhhh...on the elevator."

"Yeah...going up."

Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Man in My Closet

There once was a time when I didn't sleep for four days. Do you know what happens when you don't sleep? You start to hallucinate.

Back in high school, I had insomnia for two years. The hallucinations only began about a year into it, and they were subtle. It always happened when I was driving, and I'd see a huge semi-truck pull out in front of me, and I'd suddenly jerk to my left to avoid hitting it.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" my sister would say, when she was fortunate enough to witness my insanity.

"What? Didn't you just se---oh."

Then I'd realize the semi was gone, and that it had never been there in the first place.


"I...was...just...making sure you were awake!"

"What do you mean 'making sure I was awake?' I was in the middle of telling you a story."

"I...was...pretending to be a racecar driver!"



"Yep. You're out of your mind."

Alright, so maybe that's not so subtle. But it is when you compare it to The Man in My Closet.

I have told only one person this, and it was at the time that this was happening, during my freshman year of college. Ahem, here goes.

There was a man in my closet for about four days, the time in which I could not sleep. I'd be laying in bed, trying to sleep, and in the darkness of my bedroom, I'd turn over and face my closet door. And one night, there he was. The Man in My Closet.

Now, if I slept on my back or my stomach, this wouldn't be a problem. If there was a man on my ceiling, I think I'd be able to remember that humans can't crawl up walls and I'd realize I was imagining him. But I sleep on my side, which meant I had two places to look: toward my roommate's bed, or toward my closet. Where The Man was.

The first time I saw him, I couldn't move. You'd think if someone saw a black silhouette of a human standing in between their hangers, they'd leap up and get the hell away from those hangers. But me, nope. No, sir. Instead, I froze and I slowly pulled my blanket up toward my chin and eventually over my entire head.

"Yep, that'll get him, Natasha! No man can attack you when you have cotton on your face! Remember when you discovered that back in Kindergarten?"

And I stayed like that, trying not to breathe.

"That's right, Natasha, if you don't breathe, he'll forget that he JUST saw you. He'll even forget that he came in YOUR room to stand amongst YOUR long-sleeved shirts."

Then I couldn't breathe, so I made a little gap between the blanket and my face to breathe through. But then my lips felt vulnerable and I started to worry that The Man in My Closet would poke my lips. I wanted to look to see if he was still there, but what's even worse than getting poked in the lips is getting poked in the eye. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to leap out of bed and run not only out of my bedroom, but out of my dorm entirely.

I knocked on my neighbor's door, which was also home to my boyfriend.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?!"

"Yeah, of course...what is it?"
Looking back, I'm sure I looked panicked, bug-eyed, and ridiculous in my monkeys-and-bananas pajama pants that, come to think of it, were slightly see-through.



Upon entering his bedroom, we saw that his roommate had also invited a guest to spend the night. I was the only girl in the room.

"UHH...actually, can I sleep in your room?" he asked me.

Slowest. Yes. Ever. But we really had no choice.

We entered my dorm, and the terror struck me again. All I could think was:

Redrum! Redrum!
They're here.
Man is the warmest place to hide.
Can a full grown woman truly love a midget?

Alright, so I wasn't thinking that last one. 

We walked into my bedroom and I immediately turned on the light.

"HEY! I got an idea! Let's sleep with the light on!"







"You're acting different."

Fuck. I knew I had to tell him. We hadn't been dating that long yet, so I didn't want to come across as a complete psycho. But, since I already was acting like one, I figured I'd go for the gold.

"There's a man in my closet."

"No there's not...?"

"I know. He's gone now."

"There was a man....in....your closet."

"Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"He's only there when the lights are off."


"Oh my god you must think I'm crazy."

"A little bit, yeah."

"I'm TELLING you, there is a MAN. In my CLOSET."

Then he starts laughing at me. Total. Humiliation.

He spent the night, anyway, putting up with my sporadic whispers of, 

"Do you see him? Do you see him?"



"What about now? Is he there?"



"Look in my closet real quick, I can't look. See anything...unusual...?"

"Like a man?"


"Nope, don't see him."

This went on for three more days. I got comfortable enough to text the neighbor-boyfriend whenever The Man in My Closet appeared again, and he'd come up and lie down with me. He really had no choice. The texts were pretty urgent.




After those four days, I never saw him again. 

...maybe that's because I got a night-light.